The Plight of the Marine
by The Central Metric
Summary: A marine is pulled from fight to fight, against terrans, protoss, and zerg. It feels like it won't end. There is no real plot. Just combat scenes. Oneshot.


This job would've been a hell of a lot easier if he hadn't shown up. Adam lurched downwards, his CMC armor's gears turning noisily, as a tank shell rocketed down and destroyed the cover beside him.

Jim Raynor. Leader of Raynor's Raiders. Most wanted man in the sector. And the guy currently bombarding his little outpost out in the middle of nowhere.

That last bit was important, he thought to himself as he ducked out of cover for a second, blasting his rifle at the blue-coated marines. One went down with a yell, freezing up before falling over.

The siege tank's gun whirred to his direction. In the meanwhile, a dozen or so marines and a couple of marauders opened their fire on his fellow guards. The overwhelming firepower cut them down in a second.

"Damn you, rebel scum!" Scrambling around on his knees, his arm collided with a rolling object. Quickly glancing over at it, his jaw dropped open momentarily before he grit his teeth and pulled the pin on the archaic shrapnel grenade.

How the fuck it got there, he had no clue. Maybe he could've asked his comrades, but they were either dead or in the process of becoming dead. The shrapnel grenade exploded. Leaning out of cover to shoot, he noted that a few of the marines were actually laughing out of their suit speakers. A medic stood idly by the wall of steel, not even raising her medpack.

He narrowed his eyes and let out another burst of fire before dashing backwards. Behind him, he felt an overwhelming wave of heat as the bundle of sandbags he was hiding behind was eradicated by another tank shell. Several bolts impacted the back of his armor and he tumbled forwards from the force.

One of the bolts managed to get through and he grunted as it lodged itself somewhere near his shoulder. The pain was a dull flame, fanning itself hotter when he crawled behind a corner inside the command center.

Fortunately, an allied medic was cowering behind the wall. Adam balked instantly at the handgun pointed down at his crawling form before he narrowed his eyes at the user, "Jones! Med pack!"

The startled medic dropped the handgun before his shaking hands pointed the med pack at Adam. Adam closed his eyes and waited as the pain faded away and he felt better. With another five minutes added to his expected lifetime, he took cover by the wall he crawled around and shot blindly into the corridor. Several bursts of gauss fire answered him.

Adam swore loudly before looking to Jones, "Where's everyone else?!" he yelled. "I don't know!" was the panicked response.

The sound of rushing footsteps ended their terse conversation. With a cry, the medic flung himself deeper into the command center. Adam fired blindly into the corridor a little more before following.

The command center itself was falling apart. Rubble collapsed on the shaken corridors and the tank shells beat rhythmically against the walls. Blue-coated marines swarmed the outermost parts, none really daring to go too deep inside.

Adam ducked underneath a malfunctioning doorway and stepped inside the command room. Ignoring Jones, who was cowering somewhere in the corner, he strode forward to the big chair in front of the base terminals. The figure sitting on it was limp and his head lolled backwards, displaying the bullet wounds in his head. Lying on the floor beside the chair was a small revolver and a bullet casing.

He kicked the chair aside. The commander was barely out of training and was almost completely useless once the real fighting started half an hour ago. Adam flicked through the various comms channels, his face like a rock.

So it really was only the two of them left. He gave a sideways glance at Jones. One effective soldier. Against dozens of marines and marauders accompanied by medics and a few tanks.

It was an easy enough decision.

He pressed the comms tab again before hailing the only other signal on the barren planet. "This is Dominion Outpost Argentum, we surrender, I repeat, we surrender." A few seconds passed before a calm voice replied on the command center's speakers.

"Surrender acknowledged."

A dozen seconds passed. No more shells came. The sounds of shooting stopped. "All survivors of Dominion Outpost Argentum, please make your way outside with no weapons and your hands raised in the air. Let's make this nice and civilized, alright?"

The blinking red HUD in the corner of his eyes caught his attention as he silently turned the comms off before he slowly walked to the doorway. Jones stood stock still, breathing rapidly with big eyes.

"Is it over?" he whispered. Adam didn't respond.

* * *

Dominion, Raiders, it really didn't matter what side he was on. He was still going to pick up a gun and fight something. Not that the Raiders left him much of a choice. Surrender peacefully and join the civvies on the fringe worlds? Not a chance in hell.

So here he was now, in blue marine armor. He idly remembered the peaceful days when he patrolled a dusty moon. A protoss zealot charged towards him and he barely managed to deflect the psi-blade with most of his rifle. Said rifle flew apart in pieces and the Tal'darim protoss fluidly stuck a psi-blade in his gut.

With all the grace of a legless zergling, Adam punched the zealot with an armored fist as he went down on one knee. The zealot skidded back as a blue force field erupted around it. Behind Adam, a few concussive grenades hurtled past him and obliterated the zealot who had raised a psi-blade to finish him off.

Adam coughed up some blood. Where were the medics? Shaking his head to clear the sudden image of a beautiful blond woman dangling a med pack in one hand, he blearily scanned the friendlies who were coming to reinforce his position.

A figure in white armor caught his eyes and he sighed as he recognized the stumbling footsteps. Why didn't he just go back to being a regular doctor? Jones saw him prone on the ground and moved quickly, his med pack already glowing.

He waited patiently for Jones to finish his work, already scrabbling around in the dust for a fallen marine's rifle. Without another word, Jones fled to the backline after turning off his med pack.

Adam rolled his eyes before turning his head back to the fight. Those artifacts Raynor was digging up oughta be worth all this effort.

* * *

Adam yelled. The zerglings snarled. His gun spat bullets. The zerglings fell for the umpteenth time.

He took cover behind the sandbags once more, panting heavily. Of all the places he had to go to, Char was one he would have preferred to stay off the list.

Further ahead, it looked like General Warfield and his men were being escorted back to safety. Adam sniped off a couple more zerglings rushing across the creep field nearby.

The Dominion marines were having enough trouble as is. A Thor loomed behind Adam, its cannons and missiles firing at targets beyond Adam's reach. His job was to just make sure no banelings got close enough to trash the Thor's legs.

A flock of mutalisks let out a high-pitched shriek as they dive bombed towards Warfield's position. Adam didn't bother aiming, just spraying the air with bullets.

A brief flicker of purple on the battlefield caught Adam's eye however. His gaze flickered to the disturbance before his jaw tightened. The Queen of Blades is back.

The ground started rumbling beneath Adam's feet. He glanced downwards and saw that the ground beneath his feet was breaking up. Shit.

He abandoned his position, the Thor focus-firing on the Queen. A few hydralisk spines thudded the ground around his feet as he went on a full-fledged retreat towards the main base. Behind him, he heard a boom and the crashing of heavy metal. The earthquake stopped as a huge booming wail sounded behind him. Looking to his side, he saw several zerglings quickly catching up behind him.

No way. He spun around and fell over, his rifle pointing at a zergling who pounced forward. Depleted uranium rounds made sure that the zergling's trajectory didn't connect with him. At least a dozen zerglings were upon him in a split-second.

He spun around, firing randomly as he rolled on the floor. He screamed as a few scrabbling claws cut deep inside flesh. His HUD was red. Everything was sparking. And this time, Jones wasn't around to patch him up.

Dimly, he heard a sizzling sound. And then the scrabbling stopped. He waited a few more seconds. Was he dead?

He reluctantly opened his eyes. The zerglings were gone. In the sky above, a distant burning viking was falling to the ground somewhere.

He groaned before rolling on his back. His HUD was still flashing bright red and the screen was cracked. In the distance, he heard shouts and whoops. Did they win?

A familiar soothing feeling overtook him. He jerked his head to look around him before catching a flicker of a green beam. He sighed loudly, "A little bit late on the draw, Jones," he muttered quietly.

A heavy silence fell as scrabbling footsteps indicated that the medic had left. With a heave, he forced himself to his feet. His gun was in pieces. Again.

He stumbled back towards the main base. Maybe we did win, he thought to himself. He barked out a laugh. Not a snowball's chance in hell things were gonna work out his way.

* * *

 **I'm just practicing my combat writing. I'm terrible at it right now, but I hope I can improve in time.**


End file.
